came to the place where we were, edging along by the walls. The men,
calm and smiling, with their carbines ready, waited in silence for the
signal to advance. I signed to them to wait a little longer, and then
going round the wall I found myself suddenly in the thick of the fray.
I must say the reception I got startled me. The bullets came rattling
in hundreds, chipping the walls and cutting branches from the trees.
On our side there was absolute silence. Our men, on their knees or
lying flat behind any cover they could find, did not reply, as they
could see nothing, and waited stoically under the shower of bullets
until their adversaries chose to advance.
I looked for Captain de L., who commanded the first squadron. There he
was, standing with his face to the enemy, and his hands in his
pockets, quietly giving his orders to a non-commissioned officer. On
my asking him if he wanted me, he explained the situation: the enemy,
numbers unknown, was occupying the woods overlooking Jaulgonne to the
east. It was impossible for us to debouch just yet. The essential
thing was to hold the village, and consequently the bridge, until our
infantry could come up. He told me that the first troop of my
squadron, led by Lieutenant d'A., had just advanced, in extended
order, into the vineyards, orchards, and fields stretching between the
road and the river. He was going to reconnoitre the woods and see what
kind of force was holding it.
"You see, dear fellow, for the present I don't want the help of your
carbines; I have my whole squadron here, and they can't get a shot.
So long as the enemy sticks to the wood all we can do is to wait and
keep our powder dry."
I put my troop under shelter in a small yard, and directed my
non-commissioned officer to keep in touch with me, in case I might
want him. Then I went back to the outskirts of the village to examine
the ground. I then joined my friend S. behind a large heap of faggots:
he commanded the nearest troop of the first squadron, and we could not
help laughing at the curious situation--being formed up for battle,
fronting the enemy, under a hail of bullets, and not able to see
anything.
During the campaign S. had become a philosopher, and he deserved some
credit for it; for the great moral and physical sufferings we had
endured must have been even still more insupportable to him than to
any of us. In the regiment, S. was considered preeminently the Society
officer. He went to all the receptions, all the afternoon teas, all
the bridge parties, all the dinners. He was an adept at tennis and
golf and a first-rate shot. His elegance was proverbial, and the
beautiful cut of his tunics, breeches, jackets, and coats was
universally admired. The way his harness was kept and the shape of his
high boots were a marvel. To say all this is to give some idea of the
change he suddenly experienced in his habits and his tastes during
those demoralising days of retreat and merciless hours of pursuit.
But, in spite of all, he had kept his good humour and never lost his
gay spirits. He still accompanied his talk with elaborate gestures,
and seemed to be just as much at ease behind his heap of wood,
bombarded with bullets, as in the best appointed drawing-room. His
clothes were stained and patched, his beard had begun to grow, and yet
under this rough exterior the polished man of the world could always
be divined.
He explained the beginnings of the affair with perfect clearness and
self-possession; how the scouts sent up to the ridge by d'A. and
driven off by the Germans had fallen back upon Jaulgonne; how the
first squadron had come to barricade and defend the village, and in
what anxiety they were waiting to know what had become of d'A.'s
troop, which had started out to reconnoitre the wood.
We hoisted ourselves to the top of the faggot-stack and peeped over
carefully. The glaring white road wound up the flank of the slope
between fields dotted with apple trees. At a distance of 800 yards in
front of us stretched the dark border of the wood, from which the
fusillade was coming. To our right, at the edge of the water, on the
road leading to Marcilly, F. must have been able to see the enemy, for
we could distinctly hear the crackle of his carbines.
Our attention was drawn to a man of F.'s troop running along under the
wall, bending almost double to escape the attention of the sniper, and
endeavouring to screen himself behind the high grass. As soon as he
came near enough we called out:
"What is it?"
"The Lieutenant has sent me to say that the enemy has just placed
some guns in position up there, in the opening of the wood."
Saying which, he pointed vaguely in a direction where we could see
nothing. However, we knew that F. would not have warned us if he had
not been quite certain of the fact, so for some unpleasant minutes we
wondered what the enemy's objective was. We longed to know, at once,
where the projectiles were going to burst. Would it be on F.'s troop,
or on the bridge, or on the infantry, which, perhaps, were beginning
to debouch, or, perhaps, on that portion of the brigade that had
remained dismounted on the left bank, drawn up for action? The
uncertainty was worse than the danger itself. But we were not long in
doubt. Two shrieks of flying shells! Two explosions about 300 yards in
front of us! Two puffs of white smoke rising above the green fields!
This showed they had an objective we had not considered, namely,
d'A.'s troop, for the shrapnel had burst in the direction he had just
taken with his men.
Our anxiety did not last long. We soon made out our Chasseurs, coming
back quietly, not running, and in good order. They took to the ditch,
a fairly deep one, which ran along on the left side of the road, and
covered them up to the middle. The German shells were badly aimed, and
exploded either in front of them or higher up on the hillside. But our
anxiety became more intense every minute. Had a shell fallen on the
road or in the ditch, we should have seen those brave fellows knocked
over, mown down, cut to pieces, by the hail of bullets. When we are
fighting ourselves we hardly have time to think about our neighbours
in this way. We have our own cares, and our first thought is the
safety of the men who form our little family, the troop. But when one
is safe, or fairly so, it is torture to watch comrades advancing under
the enemy's fire without any protection. At that moment the Germans
were concentrating their fire upon that small line of men we were
looking at, 200 yards away from us. The shells succeeded one another
uninterruptedly, but without any greater precision. We watched our
friends coming nearer until they had almost reached our barricade, and
noticed that two of the Chasseurs were being supported by their
comrades. In our anxiety, we got up out of shelter, but d'A. shouted:
"It's nothing; only scratches...."
At last they got in, and whilst our good and indefatigable
Assistant-Surgeon P. took charge of the wounded men we pressed round
the officer and questioned him as to what he had seen. "Are there many
of them?" "Was there any infantry?" we asked. But his daring
reconnaissance had not been very fruitful. He had had to stop when the
artillery had opened fire on him, and had not been able to see how
many adversaries we had to deal with.
Acting on the advice of Major P., our Captain, who had just rejoined
us with the third troop, gave orders to mount. We were only in the way
here, where there were too many defenders already, so recrossed the
bridge to put ourselves at the Colonel's disposal. I led with my
troop, and we passed through Jaulgonne by the main street. The
inhabitants thought we were beating a retreat and became uneasy. Some
women uttered cries, begging us not to leave them at the mercy of the
enemy. We had to calm them by saying that they need not fear, that we
were still holding the Germans, that our infantry would soon arrive,
and that in an hour the foe would have decamped.
To tell the truth, we were not quite so sure of it ourselves. The
enemy was in some force, and he had guns. Our infantry had at least 15
kilometres to march before their advance guard even could debouch on
the bridge at Jaulgonne. If they had not started before dawn they
would not arrive before eleven o'clock, and it was then barely nine.
The German artillery was already beginning to fire upon the village.
Suddenly, as we reached the market-place, we saw a group of three
dismounted Chasseurs emerging from an alley that ran down steeply to
the Marne. They belonged to F.'s troop. Two of them were supporting
the third, whom we at once recognised. It was Laurent, a fine fellow,
and a favourite with the whole squadron. It went to our hearts to see
him. His left eye was nothing but a red patch, from which blood was
flowing freely, drenching his clothing. He was moaning softly and,
blinded by the blood, allowed himself to be led like a child. The
corporal with him explained: "A bullet went in just over his eye. I
don't know if the eye itself was hit."
The Captain sprang off his horse. "Cheer up, Laurent, it shall be
attended to at once. Perhaps it will be nothing, my man. Come with me,
we will take you to the Red Cross ambulance close by."
Then between his groans the wounded man said a thing I shall not
easily forget: "_Mon Capitaine_, ... haven't they taken away their
guns yet?"
He still took an interest in the battle. I heard afterwards that F.
had sighted the German guns, and that the fire of his troop had been
directed upon them. Laurent would have liked to hear that they had
been driven away. He was carried off to the ambulance. I went on
towards the bridge; the cannon and rifle fire still raged fiercely,
but none of the shots reached the bank where we were. We had to repeat
the trying process of crossing the swaying bridge by fours at walking
pace. I led off with four troopers. It was not so tedious this time,
as my eyes were distracted by the view of the green meadows on the
opposite side.
The Colonel had disposed the brigade in such a way that he could
concentrate his fire upon the bridge and the opposite bank in case we
could not maintain our position there. A squadron on our left,
concealed in a sand quarry, was directing its fire upon the heights
where the German artillery was posted. Both up and down stream the
_Chasseurs d'Afrique_ lined the river banks, making use of every scrap
of cover. Peeping out over trunks of fallen trees, banks, and ditches
inquisitive heads could be seen wearing the khaki _taconnet_. But my
troubles were not yet over. Just as I was going to step ashore from
the bridge, Captain D. brought me the Colonel's orders to recross the
river with my whole squadron and occupy a clump of houses to the left
of the bridge. It was evidently a wise precaution. Although no firing
had come from this direction, it was quite possible that some of the
enemy might have slipped through the woods that come half-way down the
slopes. But I did not expect such a bad time as I was going to have.
At the very moment when I was turning back, and was beginning the
hateful passage for the third time, the enemy gunners, changing their
objective, aimed at the bridge, and the shrapnel bullets began their
disturbing music once more. Could any situation be more execrable than
ours--to be upon a bridge as thin as a thread, hanging as by a miracle
over a deep river, to see this bridge enfiladed by heavy musketry fire
and to be obliged to walk our horses over the 200 yards which
separated one bank from the other? If we had been on foot, so that we
could have run and expended our strength in getting under
cover--since we could not use it to defend ourselves--we should not
have complained. But to be mounted on good horses, which in a few
galloping strides could have carried us behind the rampart of houses,
and to be obliged to hold them back instead of spurring them on, was
very unpleasant, and made us feel foolish.
I looked at the four brave Chasseurs in front of me. They
instinctively put up their shoulders as high as they could as if to
hide their heads between them. But not one of them increased his pace.
Not one of them looked round at me to beg me to give orders for a
quicker advance. And what a concert was going on all the time! Whilst
the horses' hoofs were beating out low and muffled notes, the bullets
flew above us and around us, with shrill cracklings and whistlings
which were anything but harmonious. Happily the firing was distant and
disgracefully bad, for at the pace we were travelling we must have
offered a very convenient mark. Another 20 yards! Ten more! At last
we were safely under cover!
I communicated the Colonel's orders to the Captain, who came to join
us, and directed us to occupy the little garden of a fair-sized house
situated just on the edge of the Marne and the most advanced of the
small group of buildings on the left-hand side of the bridge. After
lodging the horses in an alley between the house and an adjoining
shanty I went to reconnoitre my ground. The house was a rustic
restaurant, which in the summer no doubt afforded the inhabitants an
object for a walk. On passing along the terrace leading to the river I
found the disorder usual in places that have been occupied by the
Germans; tables overturned, bottles broken, the musty smell of empty
casks, and broken crockery.
The little garden did not offer much protection for my men. However,
crouching behind a kind of breastwork of earth, which shut it off from
the woods, they were able, at least, to hide themselves from view. I
at once posted my sharpshooters, sent out a patrol on foot as far as
the entrance to the wood, and then turned my attention to what was
happening near the bridge.
Whilst I was busy carrying out the Captain's orders I had not noticed
that the situation had undergone a decided change, and that our
chances of being able to complete our task thoroughly had increased
considerably. The German guns were no longer aiming at the village.
Their fire had become more rapid, and their shrapnel flew hissing over
the brigade. We could see them bursting much further off, on the other
side of the water, in the direction of the woods crowning the heights
whence, in the morning, I had admired the smiling landscape. I
inferred then that the advance guard of our corps was debouching. In
half an hour it would be there, and the German cavalry, we felt sure,
would not hold out much longer.
But our fine infantry had done more than this. They had, no doubt,
found good roads, or perhaps the German gunners, hypnotised by the
village, had not spied them. For I had now the pleasure of witnessing
one of the most exhilarating spectacles I had seen since the opening
of the campaign.
From where I stood on the bank I could see the thin line of the bridge
above. I did not think that any one would risk crossing it now that it
was known to be a mark for the enemy's fire, but suddenly I saw five
men appear and begin to cross it. I could distinguish them perfectly;
they were infantry soldiers, an officer and four men. The officer
walked first, calmly, with a stick under his right arm, and in his
left hand a map which formed a white patch on his blue coat, and
behind him the men, in single file, bending slightly under their
knapsacks, their caps pushed back and holding their rifles, marched
firmly and steadily. They might have been on parade. Their legs could
be distinguished for a moment against the blue sky. Their step was so
regular that I could not help counting: one, two; one, two, as their
feet struck the bridge. But just at the moment when the little group
had got half-way across, a hiss, followed by a deafening explosion,
made our hearts beat, and we heard the curious noise made by
innumerable bullets and pieces of shell striking the water. The
Germans had seen our infantry beginning to cross the river, and they
were now pouring their fire upon the bridge. I looked again at the
men, and saw they were there, all five of them, still marching with
the same cool, resolute step: one, two; one, two. Ah! the brave
fellows! How I wanted to cheer them, to shout "Bravo!" But they were
too far off, and the noise of the fusillade would have prevented them
from hearing me.
No sooner had they reached the bank than another little group stepped
on to the narrow bridge, and then, after them, another; and each was
saluted by one or two shells, with the same heavy rain of bullets
falling into the water. But Providence protected our soldiers. The
outline of the bridge was very slight, and the gunners of the German
cavalry divisions were sorry marksmen. Their projectiles always burst
either too far or too near, too high or too low. And as soon as a
hundred men had got across, and the first sharpshooters had clambered
up the heights that rise sheer from the river and begun to debouch
upon the plateau, there was a sudden silence. The enemy's cavalry had
given way, and our _corps d'armée_ was free to pass the Marne by the
bridge of Jaulgonne.
The entire battalion of the advance guard then began to pour over the
bridge on their way to the plateau. Our brigade was quickly got
together, and our Chasseurs hastened to water their horses. Out came
the nosebags from the saddlebags. A few minutes later no one would
have suspected that fighting had taken place at this spot. The men
hurriedly got their snack, for we knew the halt would not last long,
and that the pursuit had to be pushed till daylight failed. Our troop
was in good heart and thankful that the squadron's losses had been so
small. F. had just seen Laurent, the one wounded Chasseur of his
troop, and said the doctors hoped to save his eye; so we had no reason
to grumble.
Saddlebags were now being buckled and horses rebridled. I was to go
forward to replace the troop that had led the advance guard. The
Colonel sent for me and ordered me to proceed at once along the road
to Fismes, search the outskirts of the village carefully, and take up
a position on the heights overlooking the valley.
My troop got away quickly, and I rejoiced again at the sight of my
fellows, radiant at the thought of having a dash at the enemy. We had
to hasten and get ahead of the foremost parties of infantry, which
also halted now for a meal. I detached my advance scouts. Their eager
little horses set off at a gallop along the white road, and I was
delighted to see the ease and decision with which my Chasseurs flashed
out their swords. They seemed to say, "Come along, come along ...; we
are ready." As for me, I rode on in quiet confidence, knowing that I
had in front of me eyes keen enough to prevent any surprise.
One squad climbed nimbly up the ridge to the left. The horses
scrambled up the steep ground, dislodging stones and clods of earth.
They struggled with straining hocks hard to get up, and seemed to
challenge each other for a race to the top. Their riders, in extended
order, showed as patches of red and blue against the grey stubble. Up
they went, further and further, and then disappeared over the crest.
Only one was still visible, but this one was my guarantee that I had
good eyes, keen and alert, on my left. Should any danger threaten from
that quarter I knew well that he would pass on to me the signal
received from his corporal, and I should only have to gallop to the
top to judge of the situation myself. I could see the man against the
blue sky, the whole outline of his body and that of his horse; the
equipment and harness, the curved sword, the graceful neck, the sinewy
legs, the heavy pack. I recognised the rider and knew the name of his
horse. They were both of the right sort. Yes, I felt quite easy about
my left.
On the right the ground dropped sheer to a narrow valley, at the
bottom of which flowed a stream of clear water. Among the green trees
were glittering patches here and there, on which the sun threw
metallic reflections. And on the other side rose heights covered by
the forest of Riz. On the edge of this forest I could see the stately
ruins of a splendid country mansion. I questioned a boy who was
standing on the side of the road, looking at us half timidly, half
gladly.
"Tell me, child, who burnt that château over there?"
"_M'sieur_, _they_ did; and they took everything away--all the
beautiful things. They even carried everything off on big carts, and
then they set fire to the house. But everything isn't burnt, and a lot
of them came back again this morning with some horses, and they went
on looking for things."
I sent off another squad towards the château, telling them first to
follow the edge of the wood and to be careful how they approached it.
The men got into the wood by the spaces in the bank along the road and
scattered in the thickets that dotted the side of the spur we were
turning. I was thus protected on my right.
I went up at a trot to the place where the road reached the plateau,
and just as I was on the point of reaching it we were met by a crowd
of village folk--men, women, and children--coming along, looking
radiant. I saw some of them questioning my advance scouts and pointing
in the direction of the north-east. It was the whole population of Le
Charmel that had come out to meet us.
Le Charmel is a small village that stands at the meeting of two roads,
one leading towards Fismes, the other towards Fère-en-Tardenois. It
has the appearance of hanging on to the hillside, for whilst the road
to Fère-en-Tardenois continues to follow the plateau, that to Fismes
dips abruptly at this place and disappears in the valley. The houses
of Le Charmel are perched between these two roads. Thus the people of
the village had a good view of the enemy's retreat, and everybody
wanted to have his say about it. I turned to a tall man, lean and
tanned, with a grizzled moustache, who had something still of a
military air, and seemed to be calmer than the others around him. From
him I was able to get some fairly clear information.
"_Mon Lieutenant_, it was like this.... They went off this morning
early, with a great number of cannons and horses. The artillery went
straight on towards Fismes by the road. The cavalry cut across the
fields, and disappeared over the ridge you see over there on the other
side of the valley. Then towards eight o'clock some of them came back.
How many? Well, two or three regiments perhaps, and some guns; and
they went down again towards Jaulgonne. I believe they wanted to
destroy the bridge. But just as they got to the turn of the hill, pan!
pan!--they were fired at. Then, of course, we got back to our houses
and shut them up, as the guns began to fire. But when we heard no more
reports we came out again, and saw them making off across the fields
like the others and in the same direction. But it is quite possible
that some of them stayed in the woods, or in the farms, on the other
side of the forest of Riz...."
He was interrupted by my non-commissioned officer:
"_Mon Lieutenant_, the scouts ... they are signalling to you...."
I galloped up to them, when they pointed out to me, at about 1,500
yards distance, on the opposite ridge, a small group of cavalrymen
near a stack, and, on the side of the slope, a patrol of German
dragoons, pacing slowly with lances lowered and stopping every now and
then facing in our direction.